


Destroyed

by halfwayhopeful



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crying, Heavy Angst, Insomnia, M/M, Severus Snape Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 15:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12323445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfwayhopeful/pseuds/halfwayhopeful
Summary: “If you’re not 'defective' or 'damaged', then what are you?"Severus runs a hand over his face, sallow, and tired, and too old for childish games in the pale moonlight. "I don’t know, Potter. Destroyed.”





	Destroyed

**Author's Note:**

> A little murky at times, but I like the dark atmosphere. Also, *ahem* ANGST!

Hair clings to skin with the sweat of another nightmare. Severus’ breathing is shaky as he lights the bedside lamp, and the sound in the back of his throat is nearly a whimper as he burns his finger. Nightly now, for months. It’s beginning to get to him. 

Despite his morning pot of coffee, and his afternoon tea, Severus Snape is becoming an insomniac, and his control is slipping. His lessons are simplified, his authority wavering, and his focus is beginning to betray him disturbingly often. Miserable and unable to sleep, he curses his mistakes, every mistake he has ever made. Nightly he revisits calling Lily a Mudblood, joining the Death Eaters, and revealing the contents of the prophecy to the Dark Lord . . . Endlessly.

Severus pulls on his cloak and heads for higher ground. It is a cool September night, and the moon is high. He will be far from the nightmare in the air of the real world. 

……….

The silence surrounding the lake is all-consuming, and Severus touches a finger to his furrowed brow, wiping the sweat onto the grass with disgust at his own weakness. He has survived a war, risked his life countless times, lived in constant danger for years, and here he is, seeking refuge in the light, fleeing from nightmares. Some great mind he’s turned out to be.

A soft noise behind him has him on his feet, wand brandished, spell at the ready. In the soft light of the moon, Potter’s face is shadowed by the fringe of his hair, but his hands, of all things, give him away, resting at his sides, clenching slowly.

“I’m sorry, Professor. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Severus turns away in annoyance. The boy is nearly twenty, and a professor himself, yet he refuses to call Severus by his given name. Perhaps it is better this way; Severus doesn’t know if he could stand hearing his name coming out of that arrogant, pliant mouth.

The lake laps softly against the shore; Severus thinks it odd that it is large enough to carry a tide. He’s been a man of science his entire life, and understands that the moon pulls consistently on many bodies of water, but the idea of a lake, a single, isolated body of water, moving at all hours, is foreign. Some things are just meant to be stable. Perhaps-

“Professor Snape?”

If Severus possessed the energy to scoff efficiently, he would do so. After years of purposely forgetting to address him as a professor, the moment he is not required to-

“Yes, Potter?”

“If you don’t mind me asking, sir, what are you doing out here?”

Severus stares at the water for a long time, considering why the brat wants to know, what kind of leverage the knowledge could become, and why he has the most peculiar urge to tell him. “I was simply craving a bit of fresh air. What brings you outside at this hour?”

Potter steps closer now, and stands an arm’s length away as he watches the lake as well. “I had a nightmare about Voldemort again. Sometimes I wake up screaming.” He pulls out his wand and conjures a small ball of light, rather like a miniature sun. It seems obscene in the dark night, and he dims it to the brightness of the moon, lets it rest in his hand. “Other times, it goes on forever, seems like . . . I would never ridicule you, Severus. Not for having a nightmare. Not for anything, really.”

Severus closes his eyes briefly, finding relief in the words, but when he opens them, there is darkness to no end. A cloud has devoured the moon.

Potter summons the ball of light again. His face does not look his own as he speaks, eyes following the cloud across the moon. “He comes in the middle of the night, and he whispers that I failed, that I never killed him and he’s been waiting for the right moment, and then . . . We’re all in the Great Hall, just like last time, and here’s the weird part: You’re there too, you got there somehow, and he kills me. Voldemort kills me, and then I fall and everything is silent and-” The celestial orb emerges. “I wake up.”

The two men watch the moon for a moment, and in a slow moment of kinship, they watch each other afterwards. 

Harry smiles and laughs, half-heartedly. “I guess we’re both defective.”

Severus finds himself smirking despite himself. “There is a vast difference between ‘defective’ and ‘damaged’, Potter.”

“Oh really? Where does that leave you?”

Severus frowns, watching the small, silvery waves of the Black Lake. “I don’t know.”

Harry extends the light, soft in his hand, towards the older man. “According to some prophecy, I’m supposed to be able to fix everything. Or so I’ve been told.”

Severus flinches slightly at the mention of the prophecy, and Harry seems to realize his mistake. He moves to stand in front of Severus and takes one idle hand, pressing the light into it. It is nothing substantial, of course, but it leaves a warm feeling nevertheless. 

“I can fix this. I can fix you.”  
Severus reclaims his hand, poison radiating from every orifice. “I am not shell-shocked, Potter. Leave me be.”

Harry frowns and runs a hand through his messy hair. “I didn’t mean- I only meant that maybe you need someone who knows what it feels like to be underestimated and treated like shit. Someone who’s been there.”

This time, Severus does scoff. He has learned of Harry’ childhood at the hands of the Dursley’s (everyone has), but the legions of adoring fans both before and after the war are sure to have outweighed all else. Severus heard just the other day that Harry slept with a Muggle pop-star known to be a lesbian. Rumor or not, the boy has nothing to stand on in the sense of living a horrible life. 

“Fine.” Harry attempts to fill the silence. “I’ll leave, but at least answer my question. If you’re not defective or damaged, then what are you?”

Severus runs a hand over his face, sallow, and tired, and too old for childish games in the pale moonlight. “I don’t know, Potter. Destroyed.”

Severus is fighting to stay awake, he is so tired. Suddenly, he wants nothing more than to sleep forever, not in death, but in infinite rest, to wake up before his soul separated, to be on the train with Lily again. He could con her into being in Slytherin, or perhaps sacrifice his ambition and become a Gryffindor; he is unsure, but he knows he would do anything for her.

Severus ignores the sharp inhale and whine as he stumbles toward the castle. He has never been so tired in his life. Never been so-

Potter, no, Harry is crying, and his mouth is open as he breathes erratically. Severus’ sleep deprived logic is struggling to keep up with the situation, but he registers an armful of Potter before he has much of a say.

“Destroyed.” Harry bellows, and begins to cry harder. Severus blinks slowly, fighting to stay awake.

“What?” Not exactly the most cutting response in his repertoire, but all things considered . . . 

“You said you were destroyed. What does that make me?”

Severus shakes his head, fighting to sort things out. He needs to get to the dungeons. Harry is unstable, needs a calming draught, and Severus needs a Dreamless Sleep potion. He has avoided using one because of the addiction factor as well as his firm belief that he deserves to have nightmares for all he has done. 

Getting there will be no easy feat, but Severus reminds himself that he has survived the Cruciatus curse for longer than five minutes; he can do this.

……….

Shuffling into his chambers, Severus props a blubbering Potter upright on his couch and summons both Potions, glancing quickly to check for accuracy and handing Potter his Calming Draught. The boy’s hands are shaking so badly, he nearly spills the concoction, and, as his teeth are chattering, Severus is forced to hold his jaw open and pour it down, vision blurry from sleep deprivation to boot. 

Naturally, he is quite upset to find that Harry has promptly fallen asleep. Severus’ own thoughts have cleared enough to realize that he has administered the wrong potions. 

Looking down at the younger man with irritation, and knowing from experience that his couch is hazardous to one’s health if slept on, Severus makes a decision that could possibly ruin his life, another nightmare-worthy mistake: He carries Harry James Potter into his bedroom, removes the younger man’s shoes, and joins him in slumber. 

It’s the deepest sleep he has ever known, and though he does not dream, a sense of warmth pervades.

……….


End file.
